Your Heroes For Ghosts
by Secret Nerd Princess
Summary: What if Garcia Flynn never accepted the journal from Lucy Preston in Sao Paulo? What if he just walked away? Set in a post-apocalyptic universe where Rittenhouse has taken over the world. *Set in the post-apocalyptic universe Future Lucy returned to at the end of Threading the Timelines. Not necessary to read it, but know this story's gonna be dark. #Garcy
1. To the Ends of the Earth

_Jiya warned me of my death long before it happened. I argued that this world lacked the temperance for fate or destiny. But watching you slip from my bed before dawn, I find no regret, only grace that we shared these fleeting nights together. Fate's hand runs through the filaments of timelines tying us together and I go to my end praying the universe deems this sacrifice worthy._

 _I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, my Lucia, but nothing can alter the destiny I face in the dull, grey morning that hangs like a shroud over this burial march. My Valkyrie, my love, my warrior wife, I cannot risk you, my fear for your continued survival all-consuming. The world cannot continue without your light._

 _I never finished telling you the story of how I met you the first time around. You know the beginning: the dingy bar in Sao Paulo, half empty and smelling of decades of sorrow, heaped on the shoulders of the working dead shuffling in for the oblivion of the bottle. You found me there, drunk, alone, paranoid; a desperate predator, backed into a corner and out of options._

 _I never told you my darkest confession. I walked away from you that night. You begged me to listen and I ignored you. All of what follows, the Collections and the Cleansing, The Days of Necessity and the Nights of Regret. The creeping smothering plague that crept through history, bent on a more perfect union. It is all my fault._

 _This journal is the story of the Resistance. Of humanity's last stand. I am only one man, one soldier, and this is my last contribution to the cause. I entrust it to your keeping._

 _For you. For the future. To amend for the past.  
I walk willing into the fire, unafraid of the flames. _

_I love you, Lucy Preston-Flynn._

 _To the ends of the earth,  
Garcia _

xxxxx  
 _September 12, 2014  
_ xxxxx

The smell of desperation stalked him, fear making him sloppy. Rittenhouse only two days behind, Flynn knew tomorrow he needed to be on a plane bound for Siberia. Mauritania. Madagascar. Anywhere a thousand miles away. Under another identity. Running. Always running.

He wanted to stand and fight, but who? Where? How? He was only one man, one soldier. He needed an army. He gestured to the bartender, who refilled his whiskey. His third. After this, he'd throw another dart at another wall. Let the fickle hand of fate decide the next destination. Sipping, the liquid burned and he let it dull the sharper corners of his grief. Nothing lasted long enough to erase the agony of the pale yellow room, Lorena draped over the white bedspread, reaching for her daughter. Her last thought, protecting Iris. His heart, his hope, immortalized forever in a pool of blood. He could not forget the deep red stain enveloping their bodies as he ran from the house. Felt the bullets ricochet, but none succeeded in giving him an easy death.

That image haunted him, chased him around the globe as he tried to disappear from Rittenhouse. He wanted vengeance, could taste its promise beneath the whiskey, beckoning him forward. Whispering of the peace he craved, the peace that eluded him. Penance for the lives he failed to protect.

"Is this seat taken?" a feminine voice inquired.

He looked up, studying her through the haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "Suit yourself." Pretty, but rough around the edges. Her cargoes and faded grey t-shirt, old, worn. Brunette hair chopped at the shoulders, utilitarian.

"Vodka. Pura." The bartender filled the glass he placed in front of her. "Obrigado."

Flynn sized her up with a stolen glance, tense, but not going for the weapon at her ankle. Too far away to take him down before he strangled the life out of her. He'd prefer not to, leaving bodies behind complicated his escape. The little he knew about Rittenhouse, they wouldn't be so brazen. If they'd sent her to seduce him, her clothing too sloppy, accenting nothing of her small frame. They'd killed his wife, sending him a whore would backfire. No pale imitation of Lorena would divert his attention long enough to kill him.

"Garcia Flynn." Her words, confident, not a question.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, on immediate alert. "Do I know you?" He touched the weapon at his side, sliding his hand over its cool surface and unsnapping the holster. Though he despised men who used violence against women, in this moment, she was the enemy, not a woman. Nothing would stop him from avenging the death of his family.

"In a manner of speaking," she trailed off, her gaze hiding something.

"There is no manner of speaking," his sidearm slipped from the holster with ease. "Tell me your name or find another mark."

"Lucy Preston," she turned and extended her hand to him. He let it hang in the air between them. "I know about Lorena and Iris. How they died. How you found them and how you ran."

Scoffing, he raised his drink to his lips. "So does most of America. Try again."

"I know who's responsible. They're called-"

"Rittenhouse. Yes, I know all of this." Unimpressed, his stare dissected her.

"You want revenge for their deaths, to obliterate Rittenhouse?" He gave her a curt nod and his body relaxed a fraction. "You're gonna need my help to do that."

A raised eyebrow captured his incredulity. "You? I'm going to need your help?" He shot down the last of his whiskey. "No offense, Lucy," he spat out her name like a curse as his eyes raked down her body, "but you have very little to offer me."

Her face looked like he'd punched her and regret flooded his system. Why? Obviously Rittenhouse, he shouldn't care about hurting her. But the way she looked at him, haggard and hopeless, like she was drinking in the only water in the desert.

"Forgive me." Why was he apologizing?

Her smile changed her entire face, lifted the weariness from it's lines and revealed the girl the years must have worn away. "It's okay. I'm used to it."

She withdrew a battered brown leather journal and set it on the bar between them. "What is it?" he asked without taking it. He noticed the initials engraved on the front, but couldn't make them out.

She chewed her bottom lip, careful of her words. "The story of how we beat them."

"Is that so." He turned away, dismissing her.

"You have to believe me, one day you and I are going to work together to bring them down and you're going to need this journal to-" she swallowed the words she wanted to say and corrected, "to get you there." A wistful, tortured smile crossed her face. "We make quite the team."

Back to skepticism, he moved to leave. "You're insane. There's no way you can know that unless you're hiding a crystal ball behind that pretty face. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Stepping away from her, she stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Just wait. You can't imagine how important this is." He glared down and shook off her touch. "Just take the journal, what can it hurt?" she begged him, tears threatening to break free of her lids. She pushed the scarred book at him. "Please."

He hesitated, almost grabbing it from her outstretched hands. But he needed certainty, not pipe dreams from a woman who claimed to know the future. He knew what lay in front of him and he accepted his waiting death. "Sell your crazy elsewhere, Lucy Preston. Have a good life."

With that, he walked away from her, overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Had he turned around, he would have seen her, tears streaming, a woman shattering in the dim light, crushed by years of heartbreak.

xxxxx  
 _Four Years Later  
_ xxxxx

The crowd gathered in the square at nine a.m. sharp for the Daily Devotional. Each citizen required to appear at their designated Collection points. These days they served as little more than gathering spots, the Dark Years behind them, but the screams of the Forgotten echoed in the ghosts they left behind.

Garcia Flynn hated being caught out at this time of day, safer to be underground. Too many eyes. He pulled the old Tigers hat lower and knelt with the rest of the group.

The loudspeaker crackled to life. _The wind at your back._

"The sun on your face," came the crowd's monotone, an automatic recitation.

 _Peace through obedience.  
_ We kneel.

 _Prosperity through control.  
_ We kneel.

 _Everything in its time;  
For the good of humanity, the few must rise. _

We submit to the will of Rittenhouse.

And so they began their day. He rose and blended with the throng as they dispersed. Back to the bunker to plan their next mission. Something big, they'd been nibbling around the edges for too long. They needed something to shake people from their complacency. The ranks of the resistance thinned over the past couple years, the fight often fatal. If not in combat, then paraded in front of the jeering crowd, your last breaths, a warning.

He stuck to the dirtier side streets, narrow alleys that filled with garbage the closer you got to the Outskirts. Nearer the Citadel, the center resembled the city of old. But here, the people subsisted on the barest amounts, the scraps of the unused and tossed away. Warehouse workers, housekeepers, and bartenders mingled with the underemployed and the struggling to get by.

Detroit Zone: Restaurant District Three, or RD3 for short, lucked out since the only entrance to the bunker lay in the south corner nearest Warehouse District One and behind the arena. Therefore, RD3 existed under his protection. His guys infiltrated every aspect of life in the district to ensure the peaceful balance. Never letting anything get too out of control, they allowed his Zoners relative freedom to resolve differences however they saw fit. As long as no one rioted and no one died, they needed the release from the weight of the world around them.

Some districts descended into mob style vengeance with the occupants huddling against the night in their one room quarters. Rittenhouse didn't care as long as the cities kept running and the bodies got buried before the sun rose. It played into their ultimate goal anyway. Keep 'em working, slogging through the muck with the promise of a better tomorrow.

He crossed through the last checkpoint into RDS proper, "Hey John, Philly."

His guys waved him through without issue and he scanned the fence in both directions, greeted by the rusting Warning signs that bordered the entirety of the Outskirt Zone. Rittenhouse discouraged mixing between Zoners. Once designated, you stayed in your place until they found you worthy of Ascension. Very few citizens ever made it out of their original zone, but when someone did, the event required a series of solemn rituals.

"Quiet as usual, Flynn," Philly answered his unspoken question. The dark man joined Flynn back in the beginning, when he and the team first organized. He trusted him almost as much as he trusted Karl.

Nodding, he passed through the gates and continued on, torching the forged papers that gave him temporary access to the Central Zone and dropping them in an empty barrel to burn away. Gone, like his original identity. Erased from any database when he stumbled into Detroit right before they closed all the borders.

He often worried about his decision to come back to the States. Sitting in the chapel, back home in Croatia, something drew him to Detroit. He had no idea why, but he followed that instinct. Running into Jiya at the dive bar on Charlevoix saved his sorry ass. He had no idea why she took him in at the time, simply thankful for a clean set of sheets.

Entering MacReynolds by the back door, Flynn wound his way through the stainless steel prep tables.

"Hey Bossman." Flynn dragged his focus back to reality. "What's the haps?"

"Same old, same old, Q." He snagged a french fry out of the basket. "You get in those burgers?"

"Yeah, gave me a bit of trouble again." The young man shrugged. "Trying to pass off the expired stuff as if I don't know."

Flynn stopped at the kitchen exit. "You need reimbursed at all?"

"Nah, man," he shook his head. "I took Karl with me, so I didn't need to this time."

"Take him with you from now on, then." Flynn approved of Karl taking the kid under his wing. Q lost his parents in the Cleansing and Rufus and Jiya'd collected him like so many others. There were too many orphans these days. The kids stayed in the apartments around the bar as long as they needed them.

"Say hi to Mama Bear."

"Will do, buddy." Flynn left the kitchen and headed into the bar proper, finding his regular stool in the corner empty. "Hey, Win, grab me a beer, please." _God he missed whiskey._

The tiny punk rock pixie strolled down the bar and pulled a bottle from the cooler, uncapping it and setting it down. "Everything good?"

"Five by five." He scanned the bar. "Decent night tonight."

"Yup, seems like when the devil rolled out hell, he didn't skimp on the alcohol." A regular attracted her attention and she tapped the bar in front of him before going to refill the man's draft.

Served his purposes, Flynn just needed to be seen, especially after the action of the past few weeks. Going quiet would work to give them time to plan and for things to calm down. So Flynn stayed and played owner for a bit. Denise, Rufus, and Jiya-the team, strangers that became family at the end of the world-all took turns making an appearance here and there. Enough to look like productive citizens.

Bars like theirs had all but disappeared. Only a few had been grandfathered in under the Family Domicile Exception. Thanks to Jiya the hacker genius, on paper, MacReynolds was owned by Malcolm Reynolds, whose father passed it down to him and so on and so forth. It was a handy cover. Neighborhood joints like this used to bring people together. They still gathered, but now spoke only in subdued, muttered conversations. As long as they stayed under the radar, Rittenhouse left them alone.

After a beer or two, he slipped out the back. Checking over his shoulder, he pushed aside the garbage can and lifted the bottom of the chain link fence, ducking under. He shoved the metal dumpster back into place and darted across to the drain pipe that lead into an old unused sewer system. Certain no one followed, he jogged through the twists and turns that led him under the Detroit river and into the bunker on Belle Isle.

"Honey, I'm home!" His voice carried down the hallway. "Well, look at this picture of domesticity."

Rufus and Jiya had their heads bent over a stack of old books. When Flynn joined them, Rufus joked, "Mom, creepy uncle's back."

"Have you found anything of substance in the last three hours or are you two just playing footsies under the table?" Former Agent Denise Christopher called over her shoulder while stirring the spaghetti sauce. "Those anomalies in time aren't going to catalogue themselves."

"Hey Denny, how'd everything go?" Flynn leaned against the countertop, dipping a spoon in the sauce. She swatted his hand away a few seconds too late. "Needs rosemary."

"Everything could use rosemary these days. Be grateful we have salt." Elbowing him out of the way, she reached into the cabinet and handed him a stack of plates. "Everything went fine and we got the intel. Now, go make yourself useful."

"I'd rather have a look at the info," he argued as he set the table.

Denise dropped a pot holder in the center, followed by the noodles and sauce. "I'm sure you would, but we're going to sit and have family dinner." Flynn opened his mouth to retort and she held up a hand and placed a small dish of grated cheese off to the side. "No ifs, ands, or buts. Now sit. That means you two as well."

They made it through the meal before devolving into a late night planning session. When the next batch of intel was meant to arrive. What districts needed extra food and who could get it there. The usual details of the ongoing fight.

Flynn started a pot of coffee. "We need something big."

"That's gonna have to wait." Jiya stopped him before he really got going. "I was online today, scanning the boards, and stumbled across a name that started popping up round these parts in the last few weeks." Shuffling through the papers and books, she found the stack she wanted and lay them out. "Every mention talks about her like she's the second coming of David Rittenhouse himself."

"What's the name?" Flynn picked up a highlighted sheet and froze.

Denise leaned over, scanning the page. "Does that say Lucy Preston?" She snatched another page off the table. "Like…"

"Like Flynn's Lucy Preston?" Jiya finished the question for her.

"Not _my_ anything." Flynn growled.

Jiya shrugged. "Fine. Like Lucy, I met Garcia Flynn in a bar in Sao Paulo once and told him we'd make a good team, Preston?" She smirked at him. "Yes. That Lucy."

Flynn eyed the generous pile of research. "This is far more than a couple weeks. How long have you been keeping an eye on this?" He glared at Rufus and Jiya knowing they were in it together.

"Six months," Rufus answered, never breaking the stare. "And before you say anything, it just looked like she was on a welcome back, Kotter tour of America. We had no idea she planned to settle here."

 _Why was Lucy Preston in Detroit?_ "What do we know about her?"

Jiya pushed a file at him. "Not much. Apparently she's been abroad and the family brought her back."

"The family?" Denise asked, reaching for the file.

"She's old school." Jiya sorted through the research as passed her the right page. "Daughter of Carol Preston and Benjamin Cahill. Traces her lineage back to the old man himself."

The group fell silent, absorbing the new information. Flynn studied her file, it contained nothing much unexpected; private school, undergrad at Oberlin, grad student at Stanford.

"Spent the last two years traveling through the major libraries of the world?" Flynn barked out, incredulous. "Who does that?"

Jiya looked up at him. "Well, I mean, that just about sounds like a perfect vacation to me." Her brows furrowed. "Though two years does seem a bit excessive."

"And just so happens to coincide with the first Collections." Something pricked at his brain, begging him to follow the thread. He tugged back, wondering if he wanted to see the best in her. Over the years, the memory of that night never dulled, and in light of everything that followed he'd built her into an avenging angel. Thinking, one day she'd come again to save them all. He removed his rose colored blinders.

She'd been Rittenhouse the entire time.


	2. The Gathering Shadows

**RHF**

 **FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:  
The First Annual Workhouse Games  
7/23/2018 - 7/28/2018**

 _The Rittenhouse Family proudly announces the First Annual Workhouse Games. For five days, the Collected will compete in a series of games in order to win the mercy of the Family, wiping out all debt and thus earning their freedom. This week of remembrance is designed as a reminder of the sacrifices made during the Dark Days. Every ended life, every grieving mother, every Forgotten citizen ensured the welfare of those deemed worthy for the continued survival of these United States._

 _The Family also proudly announces the return of the favorite daughter, the woman destined to succeed Nicholas Keynes, Lucy Preston. At the culmination of the Games, on Saturday evening at eight o'clock, a ball will be held in her honor where she will bestow the winner with their freedom._

 _All citizens are expected to celebrate whether in person at the Arena or at their designated viewing areas._

xxxxx  
 _July 16, 2018_  
 _The Bunker_  
xxxxx

Jiya's jaw dropped as she read the press release displayed on the battered old laptop. "When does it end?"

She swiveled the screen for the rest of the team. Rufus stared aghast, but Denise and Flynn's faces hardened.

"We can't let this go on." Flynn's voice came out as flint chips, all edges and sparks.

"No, we can't. And we won't." The table jumped as Denise pounded her fist. "I want ideas on how to hit them hard. I don't know how much more of this people can take. They'll break soon and probably for good."

"There's been an uptick in incidents in the other zones we're in contact with." Jiya pulled up the stats. "Ann Arbor, Kalamazoo, Traverse City, Chicago, you can see it branches out from there. We don't have as much information from the west, but I can dig further into it."

"Not surprising," Flynn leaned back in his chair, "food's getting scarce again. Hunger makes people angry, desperate. Eventually a kicked puppy will grow up and bite you."

Rufus' gaze met Flynn's. "Then we use that."

"What do you have in mind?" Denise sat down.

"Well, I've been thinking about how Flynn keeps saying we need something big to bring attention to the cause, and these Games seem like the perfect time to remind people of everything we've lost." He laid out the three stage plan, making it clear that if they did this, there was no going back. The world would know their names and faces.

"So all or nothing, we stand or fall one final time. We can't fail." A round of resigned yet determined faces watched him as Flynn considered. "I'd like to offer an amendment to the plan. It's good. but I think we need someone on the inside."

The team shared looks of shock and alarm. Denise shook her head. "You are not going undercover at Rittenhouse. I won't allow it. You're far too important to risk. You keep this district safe and give us room to do the work we need to do."

"Good, because I won't be going undercover at Rittenhouse, at least for long. Jiya, you need somebody to get you inside the mainframe, right?"

She gave him a reluctant nod knowing the plan required it. Somebody had to go in. "He's the obvious choice, given his NSA background. Easier for him to adapt to the situation. We certainly can't send Rufus in and no offense, Denise, but Flynn's more effective when it comes to making the hard decisions. You're our details person. We're gonna need you to keep him safe."

She surrendered, knowing they were both right. "Okay, how hard am I going to have to work to keep you alive?"

He offered her a heavy smirk, "Actually, I need you to let me get captured."

"You're going to compete in the games." She sighed. "No. Just no. It's far too dangerous and we need you here."

"I'll fill Karl in and bring Win and Q up to speed, they can fill my absence in the district. Ensure the shipments and deliveries and keeping the peace. Between the three of them, we should have all bases covered. The three of you can handle everything here and you know that."

"I don't like this idea." Denise shuffled the papers in front of her. "What if you can't get out? What if you get injured? Or gods forbid, killed? What do we do then?"

"If I can't get out, I'll contact Win and Q. They can get me any supplies I need." He stood, laying a hand on her shoulder. "If I die, the resistance will go on. You all will go on. You'll have to, because Jiya's right, I'm best suited for this mission." He started to walk away. "I would ask one thing."

"Yes?" She looked up at him.

"If I fall, don't let them desecrate my body. Don't let them use me that way." His eyes begged her.

Nodding, "You have my word." She reached up and grabbed his hand. "Now, where do you think you're going? We've got work to do."

He came around behind Jiya and Rufus. "You've got her schedule, right?"

"Of course." They didn't need explanation to know he meant Lucy Preston. None of them thought he'd let go of her anytime soon. Especially now that she resided within DetZ Central D. Rufus pulled up her itinerary. "There ya go."

Flynn glanced over the list, nodding to himself. "I'll touch base with Win and Q, fill them in and make sure they've got everything they need. We've got time, but we need flexibility. Jiya, you and Rufus get started pulling and organizing the relevant information. Denny, do what you do best and bring it all together." Flipping on his leather, he turned and winked at the group. "I've gotta go introduce myself to a girl."

xxxxx  
 _The_ _Citadel  
_ xxxxx

"Mother!" Lucy grabbed the press release from the board. "What is this?"

Carol glanced up from her computer. "The Games?"

"No, the ball." Lucy gritted out. "I told you I wanted no undue fuss about my return. If the people are going to love me, I need to earn that love. I won't be able to do that if you're parading me around like a princess."

Her mother removed her glasses, folding them and placing them to the side. "Lucy, I know you've been traveling the last couple years, but you need to remember we've carefully cultivated this entire world."

"Yes, I do remember. I'm the one who saw the weak points in history. The ones that continue to make this world possible." Crossing her arms, she leveled her best glare at the woman who raised her to know her place. "And I am the next to ascend after Nicholas."

Carol rose, coming around the large mahogany desk. "And you would do well to remember that I am the reason you can stand before me with all your youthful arrogance. I can change your path just as easily." She picked a piece of lint off her daughter's blazer. "So, you will do what I tell you to do until the day you take your rightful place. Then, and only then, will you call the shots. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mother," Lucy replied, chagrined.

Carol pressed a palm against her cheek. "Now, you have an appointment at the dressmaker's this afternoon. Choose something in burgundy, but nothing too revealing. We have standards to uphold."

"I planned to tour the city later this afternoon." She bit her lip afraid of pushing her mother when she got in one of her moods.

She smiled sweetly, "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry, there's far too much to do in preparation for the Games. Maybe after everything settles down, we'll arrange for you to greet the citizens."

"Are the Games really necessary? I mean no disrespect, but, I don't understand the point." Lucy sat in the chair in front of the desk.

"We all believe that people deserve a chance to better their lives." Lucy nodded, agreeing with this basic premise. "This way they have an opportunity to wipe away a lifetime of debt for one week's worth of risk instead of years spent toiling in the factories. That's sounds worth it, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course. We are, after all, doing all of this for them." She straightened and let it go, focusing on the next task at hand. "I've been thinking about our next tweeks. I feel there's a few more events that with manipulation would be beneficial for the citizens. Make them a bit more content, happier."

"Yes, yes, that's good." Grabbing her glasses, she put them back on, focusing on her daughter. "I am so proud of you, Lucy. Truly. You've stepped into your role in the Family with integrity and heart. You've taken the citizens' wellbeing as your personal crusade and if you could see their smiling faces, you would know. You would feel their gratitude." She reached across the desk. "They will love you, don't worry."

Lucy stood, ready to move about her day. "I'll speak to Mr. Mason about the tweeks and start planning the mission."

Her mother nodded, "Yes, good. Oh, and Lucy, take Wyatt with you this afternoon."

"Mom…" She felt fourteen again, denied an ability to move around without watchful eyes.

Carol stared over her glasses. "Lucy, this is non-negotiable, your life is too precious. But take Jessica too if it makes you happy. Now go, I have work to do."

"The wind at your back," Lucy replied, kissing her mother on the cheek.

"The sun on your face," came her mother's automatic response.

xxxxx  
 _MacReynolds  
_ xxxxx

"You're gonna do what now, Boss?" Q raised an eyebrow, disbelieving Flynn could be so stupid. "For an old man, you're pretty dumb."

Win smacked his arm. "Q! What are you doing? What if he dies? How're you gonna feel then, huh?"

"Right." He joked, but hung his head, feeling bad. He fiddled with the old flip phone Flynn had given him. "Sorry."

Flynn laughed. "Don't worry about it, Win's apparently already got me in the ground."

"No! NO! I didn't mean it that way-GAH! That's not what I meant," she tried to explain, panicking.

"Win, it's okay. You're scared, both of you. I get it. I'm scared too. But something's gotta change. You know that. "

"But why you?" Q tried to hide his voice breaking.

Flynn leaned over the bar so he could look the kid in the eye. "If I'm not willing to risk my life for the cause, how could I ask anyone to follow me?"

Win slipped her hand into Q's, her voice certain. "Flynn's too stubborn to die, aren't you?"

He saw through her off handed remark. "I've got the two of you watching out for me, I'll be just fine. Now remember, you need anything, _anything at all_ , get in touch with Karl. he'll stop by to check in with you regularly, but don't hesitate. You'll only be able to text on that phone and only to me, Jiya worked her science magic on it so you'll be my only communication with the team. I'm trusting you because you two can go places they can't. Got it?"

"Got it, Boss," they said in unison.

"Tell me again what the emergency phrase is." He stared them down, not unkind, but instilling the importance.

"Starfish and coffee," Q answered.

He turned to Win, "And the all clear?"

"Maple syrup and jam," she said, never breaking eye contact.

"None of this should matter for another week, but this could change and I need you guys to be ready." Flynn cleared his throat of the rising emotion. "Now, if you two could stop making googly eyes at each for long enough to set up the bar, that'd be fantastic." He pretended anger, but they knew better, he was the closest thing to a father either of them had anymore.

Q smirked at him, "Are you going to meet Looooooocy now?" He batted his eyelashes in mock flirtation.

Flynn growled and stalked around the bar. "What is it with everyone's obsession with her? I met her once. That's it."

"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. I've seen your face when you tell that story," Win teased him.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," he quipped, ending the conversation with the old joke between them, a reminder of their mutual past. "You remember that night, right?" He didn't wait for their answer, he knew it already. Flynn drew both of them in. Technically teenagers, technically adults, they were both scared. "I will always protect you, always come for you, no matter what. And if I die, you still have Mama Bear, and Jiya and Rufus. They love you just as much as I do. Don't ever doubt that."

Win wiped away an errant tear, putting on her tough face. "Get out of here. We've got work to do."

Grabbing the fedora he kept by the door, he turned away from them. "I'll be in touch."

xxxxx  
 _Enchanté_  
 _Central District_  
xxxxx

Wyatt leaned back in his chair, eyes half closed against the mundane goings on. He let the chatter of Lucy and Jessica, discussing waistline and draping and hem length, drift away, leaving them to their lady things.

"Earth to Wyatt, calling Wyatt." Jess waved a hand in front of his face. "Come in."

He grabbed her hand, holding it for a second. "Did you need something?"

"I'm dying for a latte and I saw a coffee shop a couple blocks down." She tucked her leg beneath her. "What do you say we pop down and leave Lucy to her silence. You know how she gets with these things."

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on her," he tried to say with authority, but Lucy could tell he craved alone time with Jess.

Suited her just as well, "I'll be fine, won't I, Michele?" Lucy's face begged the stately older woman.

"Absolutely, mon chérie. Safe as houses." The dressmaker waved the young couple out the door. "Shoo, shoo, go enjoy the sunshine."

"We won't be gone long. I'll bring you a cappuccino." Jess called as she and Wyatt sauntered into the street.

Lucy relaxed. "I know we've all been friends for years, but I have to admit that between Wyatt's brooding and Jess' babbling, I might have gone insane."

"You are ever so welcome, Lucy." Michele turned as the door opened again. "I must apologize, sir. We are closed-" she broke off and smiled. "Oh, Monsieur Paulo, it is good to see you again."

Flynn bent down and kissed both her cheeks. "Bonjour, Michele, it's been far too long. Things have been good for you then."

"Oh, yes, thank you for asking. But, you must forgive me. As you can see, I am otherwise occupied."

"Of course, I apologize, Miss…" He tipped his hat and then held out his hand for Lucy to take, studying every reaction. She looked different, but not overly so. And despite the indelible impression she left on him in Brazil, she appeared oblivious to his identity.

"Preston, Lucy Preston, Mr. Paulo. I'm pleased to meet you." She blushed under his scrutiny, taking him by surprise. He kept in mind that Rittenhouse raised her, who knew what she learned under their tutelage. She would be adept at hiding or revealing at her discretion.

"Well, I didn't mean to interrupt, I only came to order a new tux for Saturday. The previous measurements will suffice, Michele, thank you." Flynn would ensure she got a new delivery of fabric for her efforts. She needed that more than money. Leaning down, he offered Lucy a dazzling smile. "You must be excited, it isn't often a lady gets to indulge in such frippery."

Her laugh erupted from her, shocking him in its honesty. "If only my mother would allow me avoid such frippery, as you put it, I would be much happier." Her lighthearted words turned steely. "I'll tell you a secret." She beckoned him down, whispering in his ear, gleeful and sarcastic. "I am not the woman you obviously believe me to be."

"I meant no disrespect." He offered, eyes breaking her gaze in contrition. "I only meant that during times such as these, it must be nice to let the worries of the world go for a time."

"I'm not sure what you mean by times such as these?" She cocked her head and looked to him for explanation.

Confused, Flynn searched for the words to respond. It couldn't be possible that she really didn't know, could it? As he began to ask her, the door opened again, and he backed away.

"Forgive me, Miss Preston." He nodded to her as a man with a severe military cut came flush to his right and a traditionally pretty blond placed herself next to Lucy. "Michele, someone will be by later this week to pick up my suit. Thank you in advance for all your help."

"No need for the apology Mr. Paulo. I am not so thin skinned as all that." Her back tensed when Wyatt stepped in front of her.

"Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, Delta Force. State your business, sir," the Army man bristled with focused intent.

Michele twisted her fingers together, stressed, frantic to avoid any kind of confrontation. Lucy stepped between the two men. "I apologize, Mr. Paulo, this is Wyatt, my friend and personal security. I've known him for years, ignore him, I usually do. Wyatt, Mr. Paulo was just leaving." Turning back to Flynn, she offered him her hand. "It was very nice to meet you. I'm sure we'll see each other on Saturday."

Her hand felt tiny in his. "That we will, Miss Preston. I hope you'll save me a dance," he said, hoping she would blush again.

She did not disappoint.

xxxxx

Flynn stalked into the street, conflicted. Everything they'd uncovered about Lucy Preston told him she espoused the beliefs of Rittenhouse. Practically royalty, as the daughter of it's two highest Lieutenants, she would have little choice.

 _I don't know what you mean by times such as these?_

The clean, brightly lit streets of the Central District devolved as he walked south, past the Arena where in a week's time he'd risk everything. He argued with himself, debating the possibility that she really had no idea what lengths they'd gone to and how ugly life was for most of the citizens. Though the previous world, the real world, was far from perfect, anything beat the sharp, unending sorrow he saw on the streets every day.

The team would never stop fighting for that real world. They just needed to steal back the Lifeboat and they could start to putting things right again.

A realization crept into his conscious mind as he passed through the last checkpoint. Night fell and shadows gathered in the alleys. Broken street lamps flickered as he fought to understand. The woman in Sao Paulo had been older than the woman he met today. Not by much, but that Lucy bore a heavy burden to the lighthearted innocence of the girl in the shop. Not too mention, though it could be a cover, he'd swear she'd never met him before in her life.

He remembered the pleading tenor to her voice in that Brazilian bar. How desperate she seemed and how defeated she'd been as he turned her down. She'd known him, he felt it in his bones. And not from a passing moment or two. From the way her body reacted to the smallest kindness, leaning into him, holding back. The touch of her hand as she tried to stop him from leaving. The way her broken spirit called out to him seeking solace, protection, help.

He couldn't explain why, but some time in the future, she finds him in the past, begging him to take the journal. Could it be possible she'd join the fight and work _with_ them? Against Rittenhouse?

He turned into the alley that took him around MacReynolds, ducking behind the fence and into the drain pipe. Shaking his head, he entered the bunker certain of only one thing: Sao Paulo still waited for Lucy Preston.


	3. Once More Unto the Breach

xxxxx  
 _MacReynold's  
July 21, 2018  
_xxxxx

"Here's your papers for The Citadel. They'll get you past the front desk security and into the elevator. I've hidden a virus that will knock out their cameras thirty seconds after they scan them. After that, you're on your own. You'll have ten minutes before their system updates and comes back online. That begins the countdown until they pinpoint your location." Jiya pushed a map of the building across the table. "The mainframe is on sublevel five. Take the service elevator on the opposite side from sublevel four down to five. That'll bring you right into the room with the servers. You'll want the third row on the right side. You'll need the fifth server from the left in the middle row," she explained, pointing to the one she meant.

"Ten minutes, gotcha. What do we know about the guard situation?" Flynn flipped through the manilla folder.

Rufus shrugged. "Nothing, unfortunately. We only got the schematics because Jiya found them on an old forgotten website."

"You're going in without a weapon," Denise added.

"You know how I love my guns." He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to relieve one of the guards of theirs first thing."

The group tried to laugh, but fell silent, gathered around the old wooden bar. Their week of prep screamed past them as they imagined every eventuality. Rittenhouse revealed nothing about the Games beforehand; he was going in blind. Not like he could take anything in with him anyway, so life meet moot point..

Flynn didn't know what else to do. Ever since he stepped off that plane in Detroit four years ago, he'd been chasing destiny. Following bread crumbs and fumbling through trying to keep them all alive. Everything'd gone to shit the moment he left Sao Paulo. He ran, little choice remained to him after he walked away from Lucy Preston. Seven cities on three continents in two weeks before he stumbled bleary-eyed into his mother's arms.

He'd lost his entire life and went to the only place he could, home. His mother fed him, forced him to shower, and put him to bed in his childhood room. Staying there forever appealed to him, but every day he lingered, danger crept closer to the only family he had left.

Looking around at the family he formed, he'd give anything to keep them safe. To give them a life worth living, without the scraping by and the constant battle to beat back Rittenhouse. Where they could raise families in the sunshine, not hiding beneath an island.

Denise ducked down beneath the bar, rising with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand. She reached for the glasses and lined up six shots.

"How long's that been down there?" Flynn asked with fake annoyance. "It's swill, but it's whiskey all the same."

"Hence why you had no idea it was there. I saved it for the right moment." She pushed a shot towards him and turned to Win and Q. "You two, special occasion. As long as you promise to stay in tonight, you can join the grown-ups."

They both hesitated wondering where their usually strict Mama Bear went. "Wait, for real?" Win spoke for the two of them.

She laughed. "It's the end of the world, I think you can have one drink." Besides, she couldn't deny them this moment with Flynn. She raised her glass, "This next week is gonna be brutal and if everything goes as planned, we'll set in motion a series of events with no emergency brake. But before everything goes sideways, let's remember this night, before any of the fighting begins, while we're still together."

Flynn raised his shot. "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers."

"For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother," Denise finished for him.

A round of clinking glasses accompanied Rufus as he added, "To those who are about to rock, we salute you!"

xxxxx

Flynn followed the path through the subterranean salt mines that spiderwebbed underneath the city. Finding the tunnel maps in old Town Hall had been a godsend when they started and needed to move about without the watchful eye of Rittenhouse. Tonight, he checked in with all the bases in RD3, retreating to the underground relay station so he could ensure the heads of other Zones stood ready for the battle to come.

"Hey Bam Bam, how's it going here? Everybody call in?" Flynn picked up the logs and sat down in the metal folding chair in front of the makeshift desk propped up on old milk crates and covered with radio equipment. Black and orange cords and wires snaked up the walls and disappeared into the passageway behind it.

The clean cut soldier moved one half of the headphones he wore off his ear. "We're good in Michigan. Out of Ohio we've heard back from Cleveland and Columbus, only Chicago in Illinois though. You know it takes time to pass the message and response back and forth. With the Games being broadcast nationwide, the word will spread. Don't worry, they'll be ready." He fiddled with a knob and turned back to Flynn. "How about you? You're taking a huge risk going in there."

"So everyone keeps reminding me," he replied not looking up from the data. Bam Bam stayed silent waiting for Flynn to continue. He sighed and dropped the logs. "I'm the only one without any ties in what's left of the world. If a sacrifice needs to be made, it should be me." Jiya revealed his death to him when they started, and though he'd accepted it long ago, only he and Jiya knew the end of this path.

Bam Bam tried to reason with him,"The resistance needs a leader and that's you. You stepped into the void when people were terrified and starving."

"We all did, I wasn't alone. If I die, the movement will go on and the team will finish the mission. But if not me, then who? Rufus has Jiya and Denise's kids are still alive somewhere. I can't ask her to abandon them. And what about Q and Win? They need a real family, not a broke down father figure who cares nothing whether he lives or dies. The only thing that matters, the ONLY thing, is taking down Rittenhouse."

The soldier threw his hands up in surrender. Whether or not Flynn believed himself the leader, those who followed him did. "Understood. Don't worry about us here, I'm in just about constant contact with Jiya, and with other outposts checking in, we'll be ready when the signal goes up. I'll be there when you need me."

Flynn stood, pacing the open space, his black clothing stark against the white salt walls. "Remember, after the ball, things are gonna heat up, but they'll still need to simmer after that, get the word of mouth going as far and wide as possible. That way once the last fuse is lit, the rebellion will spread like wildfire. We need Rittenhouse otherwise occupied for everything to go off without a hitch."

Bam Bam stretched his legs out in front of him. "We've got this, I swear it." He stood and clasped the man's hand. "You've been an inspiration for so many, let us carry the weight for awhile. Just focus on keeping yourself alive."

"Aye aye, Captain." He tugged the man in. "Keep them safe for me."

He nodded. "Even if it means my life. You have my word."

xxxxx  
 _The Citadel  
_ xxxxx

Nicholas Keynes sat at the head of the table listening to the end of day updates from each of the districts. Some trouble in the outskirts, nothing to really worry about. When Lucy appeared in his doorway, he dismissed everyone, standing to greet his great granddaughter.

"Lucy, I've been waiting for you. How was your day?" He gestured towards the leather armchair arranged in front of the glass coffee table in the center of a small sitting area. He pressed a button and called to his secretary for coffee.

Lucy seated herself, pulling out a laptop and placing it on the table. "My mother should be here shortly, but I've been working on our next mission."

Nicholas got comfortable across from her. "Have you?"

"Yes. I'd been thinking about what you said about factions of the populace being unhappy. That you thought the small tweeks left a residual memory in the collective unconscious. Bigger changes alter more of the landscape and require absolute acceptance for the brain to adapt. Keeping people in their places has proved more difficult, the tweeks aren't working as well. You've mentioned some minor skirmishes."

"Nothing you need to worry about, I assure you." He played off the simmering resistance.

"No, of course, but what if we got them used to the idea of boundaries earlier? What moment in history could the government have declared martial law and no one would've blinked an eye?"

Nicholas found himself intrigued. If they penned the populace in earlier, they'd be easier to control now. They could nip any rebellions in the bud.

Carol entered the office followed by Emma. "Is my daughter laying out her brilliant plan?" She and redhead filled in the last seats as a mousy brunette secretary served the coffee.

"She was just about to tell me what she had in mind." He beamed at the woman who'd eventually replace him. Molding her had been easier than he thought. Her mother made the right decision to send her away while they did the dirty work of creating the future they desired.

"As I was saying," Lucy leaned forward excited at the prospect of making things simpler for the citizens she would one day look after. "When in recent history could the government, meaning us as Rittenhouse, have instituted martial law and people would have just gone along with it?"

Emma caught up quicker than Nicholas. Probably because it'd made an indelible impression on her. "You wanna go after 9/11."

"I do. Afterwards, people were terrified, paranoid. We control them by giving them safety, making them trust us early on. Get our name out there, so to speak." She glanced over the group hoping they understood. "We don't have to spill any blood this way, just condition people to be more pliable, more accepting. So that when the walls go up, people view them as protection."

Emma smiled at the younger woman. "I'll admit, it's a damn good plan."

Carol swiveled the laptop to face her. "I assume we still have sleepers in place at that point? We used them for the election, if I remember correctly."

Lucy searched her brain. "Yes, we did. That was my last active mission before I went traveling." Nicholas and her mother shared a look. "We didn't pull them out, did we?"

"No, of course not." Nicholas assured her. "This is some fine work, Lucy. I'd like to see a flushed out mission plan in the next three days."

She smiled and rose to get back to it. "I've already got Anthony and Connor on the jump parameters. I think we should use both ships for the mission. That way we can spread out the manpower while we arrange everything."

Her mother stopped her. "Lucy, don't stay up researching all night. You have a big week ahead of you, don't tire yourself out before you start. You know how important first impressions are."

"Yes, Mother." As she walked away, she couldn't help but think of Mr Paulo and the impression the tall, imposing man left on her. Entering her rooms, her piles of history books scattered over every surface waiting for her, she realized, for the first time, she was excited for the ball.

xxxxx

Flynn finished his rounds and found himself standing beneath an oak tree in the shadow of the Citadel. The tall obelisk towered over the rest of the city, a single dull light shone out of the blocks of opaque glass that ran up the central staircase. No other windows broke the stone surface. What did the ominous building contain? What lay hidden behind its impenetrable walls? He'd find out soon enough.

He thought of Lucy in a room without sunlight and it saddened him. Did she ever just wander the streets on her own? Or was she as constantly watched as the populace? Studied for signs of dissent? He wished he could shake his thoughts of her, but Sao Paulo haunted him.

His mind wandered back to his flight from his mother's. By the time he landed in Detroit, the world had changed. An infinitesimal difference, but he felt it in his bones. Within twenty-four hours, he knew the truth: that his fate awaited him no matter what. Within a week, the team faced off against Rittenhouse and failed. Epically. When they returned, the world no longer resembled the one they'd left behind. They'd had to abandon the Lifeboat and barely escaped with their lives.

He'd known then that walking away from Lucy had allowed evil to take hold. This world a direct descendant of his denial of fate.

Learning Lucy had settled in Detroit confirmed what he long suspected, that they were destined to work together. But how he could he trust her? Trust a woman raised in Rittenhouse? No, too much depended on this for him to allow that kind of vulnerability. His heart might want to trust her out of some misguided image he'd created of her over the years. That didn't make it smart.

"Hey Boss," Karl sidled up to him. "Maybe you oughta not hang out here all night mooning like a school boy."

Flynn grimaced. "If I'm the boss, why are you always such a smart ass? Shouldn't you offer to fetch me coffee or run off at my beck and call?"

"Not in the job description. And you picked me, too late to turn back now." They both moved onto the side street, heading back to the tunnels. "We're set for tomorrow. Once they arrest you and you declare your intent to compete, you'll be taken to the barracks outside Warehouse District One. On your way back there, after your first day of games, I'll be waiting for you to pass by so I can get you the phone."

"Good. I trust you." He stopped the man walking next to him. "Also, thank you for taking the kids under your wing. They're gonna need you."

Karl grunted. "Don't think I'm taking them on full time. You're a stubborn son of a bitch and you'll be back ordering everyone around again soon enough."

Flynn let it go as they started through the maze of passageways again. He knew Karl wouldn't let him down. "When we get back, I'm going to address your insubordination."

"Anything you say, man," the thinner man snickered.

"One more thing-"

Karl finished for him, "Keep an eye on Lucy Preston. Already done."

"I want to know everything whenever I finally get a chance to get away. With it being the old army barracks, it shouldn't be too hard, but I'll have to see what kind of security they have in place before I make any moves."

They came to the crossroads where they'd part ways. "I'll staying above Mac's until you're back, but not a minute longer. You got responsibilities, don't try and shirk them off on me. I ain't the hero type."

"So you say." Flynn retorted, heading to the basement entrance to Mac's. "I'll see you Monday night."

Karl huffed, grabbing the ladder that led to the surface. "Try not to die."

xxxxx  
 _The Bunker_  
July 22, 2018  
xxxxx

Flynn woke early and slipped out of his room, enjoying one last cup of coffee before the team rose for the day. He didn't need any long goodbyes. Wanted his mind clear when he walked through the doors of the Citadel for the first time. Once his foot crossed the threshold, he gave in to his destiny, however it played out. In what felt like another life, fate offered him a hand to hold, a partner in this fight against RIttenhouse, and he refused.

This mission served as redemption for that betrayal of his duty. He finished his mug and rinsed it out, returning it to his spot on the counter. He nodded to the empty room and grabbed his old army jacket. Double-checking his cargo pants for the zip drive, he took one last look around. He hoped the team would forgive him for leaving without saying goodbye, but he couldn't second guess himself now.

Without a look behind him, he strode away from the life he'd built from the ashes.

Exiting the drain pipe, he squinted in the brilliant sunlight and retrieved a pair of aviator glasses from his pocket. Getting across town made simple with Jiya's forged papers and his military dress. Sooner than expected he stood once again in the shadow of the Citadel. This time he did not linger.

 _No time like the present._

Flynn crossed the street with purpose, like he had every right to be there. He flashed his papers at the panel next to the doors and they whooshed open.

He stepped in the Citadel for the first time. Chrome and white marble surrounded him. Clean, sterile, regimented within an inch of its design. Uncomfortable beige chairs dotted a small sitting area off to the right side. With no windows and harsh fluorescent lighting, the space had a washed out feeling. As if someone bleached out reality. He approached the reception desk hiding the creeping dread that stalked behind him.

"I'm here for a nine thirty meeting with Anthony Bruhl."

The nondescript woman in tan continued typing, "Papers."

Flynn slid them across the surface as she glanced up and took them, running them under the scanner. She scrutinized him, deciding he must not look like a terrorist, and passed the papers back. "Thank you. Third elevator on the right. The wind at your back."

"The sun on your face." He tucked the papers back into his pocket and headed to the proper elevator. Jiya made sure his "appointment" gave him a reason to take the elevator to the underground levels, but that would only get him to sublevel four. Once he exited he gave the guards five seconds to react. Enough time to disarm one, claiming the weapon for himself, and focusing on whoever remained.

Pressing the button, the silver door opened and then closed behind him and he checked the time on his watch. Countdown, ten minutes. He watched the lights above the door indicate his descent. Sublevel one. If Jiya's virus succeeded, the cameras should be down. If not, it'd be a short trip to the Barracks without getting the zip drive in. Sublevel two. Forcing his body to relax, he drew in several deep breaths, centering himself. Sublevel three. He waited. Prepared for the fight. Get a weapon. Find the server. Sublevel four.

The door slid open and he stepped forward, scanning the hall. Two guards, one to his left, one to his right. He grabbed and snapped the right wrist of the left guard, bringing him to his knees.

Flynn bent down, relieving the man of his gun and his consciousness. "Thank you." By that point, the right guard had his weapon aimed. A roundhouse kick knocked it away and a right hook left the man in a crumpled heap. "Don't point if you aren't prepared to fire. Otherwise," he bent down and retrieved the second gun, "you're just handing your enemy another way to kill you. Lucky for you, I'm trying to impress a girl, so I'm not gonna do that. I will, however, take your key card."

The rest of the floor held little other than rooms full of filing cabinets. He checked his watch, nine minutes left, and decided to poke around. When else would they get a better idea of what Rittenhouse was hiding in this creepy ass building? He pulled a file at random. _Rosa Parks. December 1, 1955._ Who the hell was that? Reading the file, his stomach churned. He put it back and removed the file in front of it. _Brown v. Board (1954)._ Opening it, what he read made no sense. Brown versus the Board of Education was voted down. Plessy v. Ferguson stood as the law of the land. He scanned further realizing what he held were mission notes. His heart dropped when he came across the name of the architect of the mission. Lucy Preston.

He shoved the file back in the cabinet and moved with renewed intent. He needed the extra time to pay a lady a visit.

Getting in and out of sublevel five, and inserting the zip drive, proved easier than he expected, leaving him six full minutes to address the questions that plagued him regarding a certain beautiful brunette. He located a map of the building on a fire exit sign and walked past the two still unconscious guards, straight to the main elevator. She wouldn't be in the penthouse suite, but being Rittenhouse royalty afforded her a privileged residence. Didn't matter, the pass key gave him access.

The elevator stopped one floor from the top and opened. He immobilized two more guards, one of whom donated his key card to Lucy's room. No hesitation, he strode right in as if he owned the place. Books cluttered every surface, papers, pens, charts, whiteboards covered with black scribbles. He smiled to himself at her nerdiness before remembering he sought answers from a Rittenhouse agent.

His eyes narrowed on her as she straightened from where she bent over a laptop.

"Mr. Paulo," she cried out in surprise. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? This is highly inappropriate."

"Don't bother yelling for your guards, they're quite incapacitated." He crossed the room and settled himself on the plush dark grey couch. Leaning back, he propped his feet on the coffee table, nudging a pile of folders to the side with his boot. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions, so you might as well get comfy."

Her body tensed, ready for whatever he threw at her. He refused to be impressed. She sat, careful not to fold her arms over her chest. "You have questions? I have nothing to hide."

"Rosa Parks." His blood burned through his veins, angry at the woman for her part in the manipulation of history.

"I'm sorry, who?" Lucy pretended ignorance.

He surged to his feet. "You know damn well who I'm talking about. Don't play dumb with me." He stopped short, only inches away, towering over her. "How could you do it? I would assume someone who loved history as much as you appear to, would want to protect it? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

She stood, going toe to toe with him. "How dare you! Everything I've done is for the good of humanity, of history. Small pockets of insurrection don't outweigh the happiness the citizenry experiences under the guiding hand of Rittenhouse."

"Small pockets of insurrection?" he asked, incredulous. "You've really sucked down the kool aid there, Lucy." He stilled and studied her reaction as he asked, "Have you even seen what your meddling has created? Or do you just stand here in your ivory tower, reading your charts and graphs, not realizing the whole time you're messing with people's lives?"

She stepped back from him. "Of course I've seen the effects," she denied, but Flynn saw the panic and worry flash across her face.

He glared at her. "So you were here for the Collections when they ripped children from their parents' arms? You watched as your goons gunned down citizens in the street for the simple sin of fighting for their freedom?" He stepped closer again. "Did you see their faces as they died?"

"None of this is true," she retorted as she folded her hands over her chest, but Flynn saw the doubt in her eyes. "Rittenhouse wants the best for our citizens. You've been misinformed."

"You're completely clueless," the realization overwhelmed him and he stumbled away. "You have no idea the damage you've caused. The heartbreak, the pain, the suffering. I saw it all." He sighed, "I'm sorry, Lucy, but it is you who've been misinformed."

Her false bravado broke and her face fell. "I don't know what you mean. Please, explain it to me." _Had her entire life been a lie?_ He watched the question skitter across her expression. She pleaded with him and he saw the woman who came to him in Sao Paulo, "I don't understand."

He wanted to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. He was with her now, they'd set it right together. But time ran short and words were useless without proof. That he couldn't offer her right now.

Instead he closed the distance between them and kissed her. Bold, without a thought of permission. She hesitated, but didn't pull back, fitting herself into his arms. Her tongue darted out, tasting his lips and he unraveled, plundering her mouth as her lips parted, inviting him in.

He lost himself in her softness, forgetting about the time until he heard pounding footsteps in the hallway. He dragged himself away from her red swollen lips, from the passion that spilled from her eyes.

He bent his head to hers. "I will tell you the truth, I promise. But I fear I will be otherwise engaged for the next few days, so I'll ask for your patience and trust." He stepped to the center of the room as the guards piled in, a plethora of weapons pointing in his direction.

"On your knees," several guards commanded.

Lucy's hand touched her lips as he went to his knees, hands lifted in surrender. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine." Two guards wrenched his arms behind him, locking cuffs around his wrists.

"Garcia Flynn, you are under arrest for breaking and entering, trespassing on private Rittenhouse property, and the murder of your wife, Lorena Flynn and daughter, Iris." The guard yanked him to his feet. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Lucy looked horrified, but nothing could be done about that. The time had arrived.

"I declare my intent to participate in the Games."


	4. Bread and Circuses

xxxxx  
 _July 23, 2018  
The Arena  
_xxxxx

The rumble of the arena thundered through his bones, vibrating his nerves, tension wrapping itself around him. Flynn forced his muscles to relax, glancing around at the other fighters clad in scraps of leather that barely covered the major arteries. The tunnel reverberated with the thousands gathered above the two lines of silent men waiting for the gates to open. They were the first fourteen contenders and the crowd bayed for blood, eager for the entertainment of death.

He studied the back of the small man in front of him, watching the almost imperceptible shake of his shoulders. He laid a hand on his shoulder and a teenager turned around to face him, unshed tears lingering in his eyes.

"Mark," he pulled the boy into his arms, shocked to see Denise's son here. Jiya'd been unable to locate him. "What are you doing here?"

"Garcia?" His tears crested his lids and he buried his face against Flynn's leather armor. Mark pulled back, anxious. "How's my mom? Did you get her away? Is she safe?"

He gave the boy a moment to collect himself. "Yes, your mom's fine, I promise. But what are you doing here? I'm sorry we couldn't find you, but you can't be here."

His shoulders straightened as he answered the older man. "It's Olivia. They're going to sell her to one of the C-Zoners." Mark gripped his arms, eyes darting from side to side. "I need to get her out. You know what will happen if she's purchased."

His stomach plummeted as he imagined what would happen to the sweet girl. He wouldn't let that happen. "Do you have a plan?"

The teenager shrugged in embarrassment, "I have no idea, honestly. I just knew this would be my only chance."

Flynn squeezed the bridge of his nose. "And if you died? What then?"

Mark's smaller frame sagged. "I couldn't just leave her there."

"I know." He gazed down at the young man. He knew how much losing Mark and Olivia weighed on Denise. They'd tried so many times to infiltrate the workhouses, but there was no way to know where the children lived. And here her son was, willing to sacrifice his life on the off chance that he could save his baby sister. "Stay near me. I'll keep you alive through whatever faces us and get you out tonight. You're going to need to be ready to move when I tell you to. Can you do that?"

Mark nodded. "For Olivia, anything."

"You might not like the rest of my idea though, because I need you to wait to go after your sister." He looked like he was about to argue. "No. That's the deal. If you don't agree, I'll take you out of the games myself and ensure that you face a long recovery. " He raised an eyebrow and stared down the young man. "Better than you being dead and of no use to Olivia at all. You'll tell your mom, Jiya, and Rufus where your sister is and only then are you to go after her. You cannot do this alone. Do you understand?"

"I don't like it, but I figure you've kept them alive this long, so I'll trust you." They clasped hands, sealing the deal. "What do you figure they've got in mind for us out there?"

A grim determination came over Flynn's face. "I have no idea, but it'll be bloody." The crowd erupted above them, their stomps and cheers vibrating the very walls of the tunnel. The gate ahead of them began to open. "Time for the bread and circuses."

xxxxx  
 _The Arena_  
xxxxx

The excitement coursed through her despite her misgivings about the Games. The energy infectious as she scanned the assembled crowd. Lucy worried for Garcia Flynn even as she doubted the little he told her before his kiss ruined her for other men. She twisted her fingers waiting for a glimpse.

"Stop fidgeting," her mother commanded as she swatted her hands apart. "You can't still be thinking about that man after what we told you."

Her eyes skirted her mother's glare. "He could be innocent," she said, fearing her mother would read the disbelief warring with her upbringing. He didn't seem like a man who would kill his family.

"Lucy, seriously. He broke into the Citadel and your rooms, those are not the actions of an innocent man." Carol smoothed her beige pantsuit as she crossed her legs.

"That's just it, if he's guilty, why come to the Citadel at all?" She half-turned in her chair so she faced her mother. "He had to know we'd arrest him. So why do it?"

Her mother set down her glass of Chardonnay. "This man murdered his wife and child in cold blood, Lucy. We have the files. I can have them sent to your rooms, if you'd like. But I warn you, the images included are quite graphic. I don't recommend you look at them."

"I'd like to see them, nonetheless." She straightened her spine. If she'd been blind to the reality of Rittenhouse, she wanted the truth.

"Of course, darling. Whatever will end your fascination with this man." Carol patted the back of her hand. "Thank goodness your father is working on a marriage for you. When he finds the right alliance, we'll see you settled with a man worthy of the future leader of Rittenhouse."

"I might have to rethink that decision." Benjamin Cahill interrupted the conversation, setting himself on her left side, buffeting her between parents. "What is the fifth commandment, Lucy?"

Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Honor thy father and mother."

"Correct. Now be a good girl and stop arguing with your mother." A waiter in all black appeared at his side with his usual bourbon old fashioned, then faded again into the background. "Let's focus on the good we're about to do with these Games. Someone needs a fresh start, to embrace their future unencumbered by the sins of the past."

Lucy smirked, feeling sassy, "Even if that someone is Garcia Flynn?"

"Even if that someone is Garcia Flynn," her father gritted out. "Though he doesn't deserve it. The man is a terrorist, Lucy and I won't have you obsessed with him. It's unseemly."

As it always had, her father's disappointed voice caused her to drop her head in chagrin. "I'm sorry." She looked up, tentative. "I just want to know everything I can so I can best serve our people."

He sipped his cocktail. "You do that by listening to your elders. You still have much to learn, Lucy."

"Yes, father," she complied, but her doubt lingered. She'd read his file and decide for herself. Putting that aside, she felt the rumble of the crowd as the Games roared to life. She had only one worry now: that Garcia Flynn wouldn't make it out alive.

xxxxx  
 _MacReynold's_  
xxxxx

No one spoke, transfixed as the American flag and National Anthem took over the televisions that hung over the bar. Couples gripped hands beneath the tables. By now, everyone knew that Flynn had been arrested and chose to compete in the Games. Rumors spread like wildfire around the district within hours of his arrest, turning him into an even bigger folk hero than normal, though only the core group knew the truth. Still, those closest to him gathered at Mac's.

Win twisted a white towel in her hands as she stared up at the screens while Q hid in the far corner pretending nonchalance. Karl sat at the end of the bar, next to Flynn's stool, nursing a beer. Denise glanced over all of them, tense and terrified, and knew after this nothing would be the same. Either they'd succeed and the world would be none the wiser, or they'd fail and likely none of them would see the end result. Their blood would run in the gutters.

She leaned to Jiya who stood wrapped in Rufus' arms and whispered, "Everything set?"

"Yes, I embedded the final code this morning." Jiya bent her head closer. "The file's uploaded and just waiting for the timer to wind down to activation."

Denise turned her head to look at Rufus. "You sure you're okay with all this?"

"Yes, my family deserves more. Deserves to know that wherever they are, I haven't stopped thinking about them, trying to save them." Jiya squeezed his hand. "They'd do the same for me."

"We'll fix it or die trying," Denise promised him.

Rufus smirked, "Well, let's try and avoid the dying if at all possible."

The three of them turned back to the television as the National Anthem faded and the voice of Nicholas Keynes filled the bar.

 _In the year of our Lord, twenty fourteen, the world that surrounded all of us grew out of control._

Video of wildfires played under his voice-over blending into images of riot and war and starvation. Children and their concave stomachs, flies swarming their young faces.

 _Left to its own devices, the world would soon descend into chaos._ The bombing of Hiroshima. The World Trade Center. _Lucky for humanity, my ancestor, David Rittenhouse, saw this inevitability and prepared us to take over when the time came._

A scratch of static shot across the screen and replaced the images of destruction with kids playing a game of basketball in the middle of a neighborhood street lined with older cars. Groups of friends and families sit on the stoops watching, chatting about this and that, the stuff that brings people together in the heatwave of the summer. Up the street more kids are running through a gushing fire hydrant, but the old home video focuses on one boy. Gangly still, before the years molded him into the tall, lean young adult he became. He wove through the other kids with an untrained grace.

Rufus' voice fills the bar, warm and welcoming where Nicholas Keynes' sent a chill warning even in it's apparent kindness. _This is my brother, Kevin Carlin. A good kid. Made good grades. Had a crush on a girl at school that he wanted to impress._ The images changed, flipping through Kevin as he grew up, dressed for his first day of high school, sitting playing video games on the old brown couch. In his basketball uniform his freshman year. Standing in front of the mantle with their mom in his first tux for the school dance.

 _That's my mom. She worked two jobs for most of her life just to keep me and Kevin in clothes._ Another home video showed the two brothers decorating their mother with garland as she slept in the recliner in front of the Christmas tree. _She did the best she could. Went to work with holes in the soles of her shoes so that we ate three square meals a day. Even when those meals were left in Tupperware in the fridge, waiting for reheating._

More pictures scrolled past. Rufus holding Kevin on that same brown sofa the day he came home from the hospital. Rufus helping his brother learn to ride a bike. Years of Christmases passed as the family aged in photos, their smiles heavier, but ever present.

 _And what was her reward?_

The scene changed to the footage Jiya hacked from the mainframe. Rufus's mother and brother stood shoulder to shoulder with their neighbors on the sidewalk in front of the stoops. A man in a military uniform held a clipboard out in front of him as the soldiers under his command dragged their neighbors from the line.

 _The Collections._

Rufus remembered the day all too well even if he missed the line-up because he was coming home from Mason Industries. Flynn yanked him into an alley as he ran towards his family. They took his mother first and then, after Kevin tried to stop them, his brother. Rufus watched helpless as Rittenhouse tore apart his family.

 _What was her sin? Credit card debt from taking care of me and my brother. They stole my family from me. Just like they stole yours._

His voice-over fell silent as the rest of the video played out. He watched as mother's name was called. Saw his brother take a swing at the soldier who grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and closing handcuffs around his wrists in one smooth movement. From this camera angle, he knew the instant his mother saw him down the street and the imperceptible shake of her head. Don't risk your life, Rufus, she seemed to say. He still regretted his choice, but he would make it right.

One last series of shots showed the differences between the Central Zone and the Outskirts. The shining versus the dirty. The open spaces and the narrow alleys. The light and the darkness.

 _This is not the world as it should be. These Games are an anathema to the country we pledge allegiance to. There will come a time in the near future where you will be asked to make a choice. Will you sit back and let more families be torn apart? Or will you choose to be on the right side of history?_

The screen went black.

Denise looked to Jiya and Rufus, "We lit the match."

xxxxx  
 _The Arena  
_ xxxxx

"What was that?" Lucy whipped her head to look at her mother.

Carol leaned around her daughter to her husband. He nodded to her and only then did she focus on Lucy. "We didn't want to tell you this way."

"Something tells me you didn't ever intend for me to know this." Her mother reached for her and she pulled away, disgusted. "That soldier with the clipboard was Wyatt. All of you knew about this and kept it from me. It's why you sent me away, isn't it?"

"It was in your best interest. You've always been so emotional." She folded her hands into her lap. "You have to understand, Lucy. This was the only way. We've always known that the lower classes wouldn't go along with this without incentive. His family is fine, I promise you. All those people are fine. But the future we planned needed productive members of society, not a welfare mom without the sense to keep herself out of debt."

Lucy blinked back incredulity. "Her children would have starved."

"She should have worked harder." Carol motioned for another drink. "You can't believe that this world we created came without a cost? You aren't that naive, Lucy. This is what you were raised to know. This world. Everything in its place."

"Everything in its time," she responded without thought. She hated this, but now that she knew what happened, what was happening, she could work on fixing it. Still simmering with anger, she appeased her mother, "You promise those people are all safe?"

Her mother leaned back in her chair. "Of course, darling. Just working off their debt. Now, sit back and enjoy the games. "

xxxxx  
 _The Arena_  
 _Playing Field  
_ xxxxx

Flynn stepped out into the stadium, the ground covered with a rocky sand surrounded by stone slabs that formed the walls of the enclosure, and stared up at the roaring crowd that encircled them. They'd come for blood. He checked out the field. Two stone circles jutted out at the top of the wall, around the midpoint where they'd entered. Chains dangled from between the slabs at uneven levels. Holes pockmarked the surface of the stone, but he couldn't discern the reasoning behind them.

In the center of the stadium an MC dressed in a toga held out a single ball. Once he held their attention, he dropped it to the ground with a thud.

"You have forty-five minutes to get that ball through one of those two hoops," he pointed to the top of the twelve foot wall. "Whichever team scores the most moves onto the second set of games. The losers stick around to cart off the bodies after the next round of competitors. Any questions?" When no one spoke he walked in between the two lines, handing half of them blue arm bands and the other half, red. "Blues, start on that end. Reds, opposite end. Make it a good show, boys."

Flynn moved the other direction with the other Reds, now his team. "Mark, remember, stay near me."

"I know you aren't going to like it, but I'm not sure how much that's gonna be possible. But you get my back, I've got yours."

The National Anthem began and both teams fell to their knees as expected, hand over their hearts. The small rocks dug into his bare knees, but all his attention was on the screen. He sang with the masses waiting for the interruption of the propaganda. As expected, once they took control of the feed, the crowd fell silent. Flynn risked a glance up at the boxes where he knew Lucy and the rest of Rittenhouse sat. The minions in the background scurried into action. They'd never stop it in time. Rufus' story would be told. He hoped Lucy was watching, wanted her to know the truth, even knowing what a rude awakening awaited her.

The video screen drew his attention again when Rufus' mom appeared, but this time he knew the man that held the clipboard. Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan. He wished the man stood before him so that he could kill him for what he'd done. What would Lucy do when she learned the truth?

But he didn't have the time to consider the question further since weapons dropped over the top of the wall and they all scrambled into action.

"Let the games begin," the MC announced now safely tucked away in his box. The crowd erupted, their blood thirst reignited.

"Mark, you go for the ball, we'll cover you." He barked orders to the others. "Get a weapon and form up a barricade on either side of him."

None of them hesitated as his Tran headed to the sides to get what weapons they could. Flynn burst into motion going for the sword closest to him. He skidded to a stop, picking it up and eyeing the knife a few feet away. He made the split second decision to go for it and was met by a large barrel chested man swinging a long-handled axe. Flynn rolled, scooping up the knife as the head of the axe puffed up the dirt where his head had been.

He adjusted and swept out a leg, bringing the big man to his knees. Flynn scrambled to his feet, clutching his weapons and kicked the man into unconsciousness. One less enemy combatant.

He made it across the field about the same size as a basketball court and placed himself in front of Mark who wrestled the ball away and backed up into the forming circle of men.

A lean black man wielding a hatchet sidled up to Flynn. "Left or right?" He slashed at the man coming at him with a baseball bat, chips of wood spraying up where the weapons connected.

Flynn looked between the two hoops that served as goals and half-turned to the rest of the group. "Left. On three."

He counted down and they moved as one, pushing back the other team. The opposing six men tried to push forward, but they weren't working as one. Flynn's red team fought them off as they inched closer to the goal. The man with a crooked nose on his right sustained the first injury as a sword from the other team sliced across his thigh.

"You okay?" He yelled to the man over the crowd and the clash of metal.

The man swiped at the blood that dripped down his leg. "'Tis only a flesh wound."

They had the Blues on the retreat, but needed a hard push for the first goal. He moved closer to Mark, the two men on either side filling in the gap he left behind.

"You think you can get yourself up that wall?" Flynn sized up the boy and the wall, while tucking the knife into what served as Mark's belt. "You might need that."

Denise's son studied the stone slabs. "Yeah, but I'm gonna need to get some momentum built up with a run. Get me to the left side of the hoop. The chains should serve as steps and handholds."

Flynn nodded and rejoined the front line, turning to the man at his left. "Push to the left, we're gonna get Mark to the hoop."

"Gotcha, Boss. Name's DJ by the way," he said as he kicked at a man who tried to stab him with the pointy end of a Bowie knife. He explained the plan to the next man until all seven of them were on the same page.

"Flynn." He slashed at the flabby man scuffling in front of him, trying to break their line. A distraction while the opposing team pushed back the men behind him. "We need to do this now. Go!" He yelled and they moved, bracketing Mark as he shot towards the goal. They closed in around him as his foot hit the bottom of the wall. He tucked the ball under his arm, reaching for the chain just above his head.

Flynn focused on the men coming at them. Baseball bat swung at him and he brought his sword around, cutting him across the right bicep. He dropped the bat, clutching at his arm and falling back. Two down. Though, who knew how long barrel chested guy would be out. He checked on Mark's progression and watched as he started to slip back down before grabbing another chain and pulling himself up, the toes of his soft-soled boots scrabbling for purchase.

The ball started to slip from his grasp and his foot slipped over one of the pockmarked holes in the wall. No sooner had he gained a toehold, a stainless steel spike shot out, grazing Mark's ankle and slicing through the leather. But he didn't let it fluster him and used the spike to propel his body up, dunking the ball smoothly through the hoop and sliding down the wall to chase after it again.

The crowd burst into applause at the close call and ensuing goal. The number on the scoreboard ticked up, Reds: 1 Blues: 0. The timer kept shedding the seconds, thirty minutes left. The game moved on.

His red team lost two players, one took a hatchet to the back of the knee, the other a knife to the kidney. A burly man with legs like tree trunks crushed the ribs of a Blue who launched himself at Mark as he ran for the fumbled ball. Flynn sprinted after him, jumping over a mace as it swung at his legs. He pushed forward, reaching for the baseball bat, seconds before it cracked his ribs. He slowed the momentum, but it still connected, enough that it was gonna leave a bruise. The barrel chested man with the axe lumbered his way towards Denise's son and Flynn tossed the bat away focused on protecting his friend's son.

He flung himself at the larger man, crashing into him around the midsection and they both fell to the ground in a tangled heap. Flynn ended up on top, but not for long. The man's arm shoved against his chest, knocking him to his back on the rocky sand. A large, dirty paw crushed across his throat cutting off his air flow. He clawed at the man's meaty forearm, trying to pry it away. Stars swam across his vision, air fast becoming a necessity. He watched through his dimming vision as the Blue team scored, tying the game.

The man's other hand held his head in place and he leaned down, whispering in Flynn's ear, "Benjamin Cahill sends his regards."

Flynn didn't let his surprise get the best of him and took advantage of the closeness of their faces to slam his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose. Blood sprayed down onto his face and the man ripped off his helmet as he flailed away. He surged to his feet, gasping, and came up behind Mark in time to stab the man who had the boy pinned to the wall, about to slit his throat.

The body dropped to the ground and Mark's words tumbled out of him. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stab him. I thought I could, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

He gripped the boy by the back of the neck. "Stop, you're just a boy, you shouldn't be able to kill people yet. Now, let's get that ball into the hoop so we can get you out of here."

DJ and the man with the crooked nose backed up to the two of them. "It's just us now, Flynn," DJ called over his shoulder. "What's the plan?"

Flynn looked up at the play clock, five minutes left. "We got just enough time to get Mark to the goal one last time. It'll make or break the game for us." Three pairs of determined eyes stared back at him. "Alright, Mark, stay to the back. We'll use the walls to cover your back and fight our way through whatever comes." He spared a quick moment for the man with the crooked nose. "What's your name?"

"Brandon," he said, out of breath, but ready for more.

"Alright, Brandon, I'm Flynn and this is Mark."

DJ chastised him as he fought off the man with the hatchet. "Less chit chat, more fighting. We'll have time for tea back in the barracks."

"Then let's do this."

xxxxx  
 _The Arena  
_ xxxxx

Lucy gasped when the nameless fighter rose from the ground without his helmet. Garcia Flynn, covered in blood, his injuries evident in the way he held his body. She watched him gather the last of his team together and held her breath, the seconds counting down as Flynn's red team fought their way around the field. She admired his grace as he fought sword to sword with another man, pushing him back, taking the young man closer to the goal. The instant the boy scrambled up towards the hoop, the Blue team launched a full on attack, pressing their backs into the wall.

Flynn struggled to hold his sword braced against another. Lucy stifled her cry, covering her mouth with her hand. He couldn't die, not now, not before she got to know him. Her desire to see him again surprised her, but she didn't fight it. She'd figure it out later, after he survived.

The boy with the ball used the spikes intentionally, triggering them as he climbed higher. Lucy sat on the edge of her seat until the ball went through the hoop only moments before the buzzer sounded, signalling the end of the first match. Covering her face with her hands, she scrubbed at her eyes, willing away the tears. Her parents wouldn't approve and she loathed the idea of another lecture after what she'd just witnessed.

Every second of this new world she stepped into, tentative and unsure, brought her closer to Garcia Flynn and took her further from her parents sharing a look behind her back they didn't think she noticed. They had lied to her about the Collections, who knew what else they'd kept from her. For her own good.

Well, it was about damn time she got proactive about what she deemed necessary to her life. She'd get the answers she desired, she just needed to get the Barracks rosters.


End file.
